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PAGE 7

"Set Not Thy Foot On Graves"
by [?]

“I do not like this house,” Susie declared, when we had been admitted by the care-taker. “It has no carpets, nor chairs, nor pictures; and the floor is dirty; and the walls are not pretty!”

“I suppose one can have these houses decorated and furnished at short notice?” Ethel asked me.

“It would not take long. There are several firms that make it their specialty.”

“I have always wanted to live in a house where the colors and forms were to my taste. I don’t know whether you remember that you used to think I had some taste in such matters. Mr. Courtney, of course, doesn’t care much about art, and he didn’t encourage me to carry out my ideas. A business man can not be an artist, you know.”

“You yourself would have become an artist if–” I began; but I was approaching dangerous ground, and I stopped. “This dining-room might be done in Indian red,” I remarked–“the woodwork, that is to say. The walls would be a warm salmon color, which contrasts well with the cold blue of the china, which it is the fashion to have about nowadays. As for the furniture, antique dark oak is as safe as anything, don’t you think so?”

“I should like all that,” said she, moving a little nearer me, and letting her eyes wander about the room with a pleased expression, until at length they met my own. “If you could only design our decoration for us, I’m sure it would be perfect; at least, I should be satisfied. Well, and how should we… how ought the drawing-room to be done?”

“There is a shade of yellow that is very agreeable for drawing-rooms, and it goes very well with the dull peacock-blue which is in vogue now. Then you could get one of those bloomy Morris friezes. There is some very graceful Chippendale to be picked up in various places. And no such good furniture is made nowadays. But I am advising you too much from the artist’s point of view.”

“Oh, I can get other sort of advice when I want it.” She looked at me with a smile; our glances met more often now than at first. “But it seems to me,” she went on, “that the way the house is built docs not suit the way we want to decorate it. Let us look at a smaller one. I should think ten rooms would be quite enough. And it would be nice to have a corner house, would it not?”

“If the question were only of our agreement, there would probably not be much difficulty,” I said, in a tone which I tried to make merely courteous, but which may have revealed something more than courtesy beneath it.

In coming down-stairs she gathered her dress in her right hand and put her left in my arm; and then, in a flash, the picture came before me of the last time we had gone arm-in-arm together down-stairs. It was at her father’s house, and she was speaking to me of that unlucky Mrs. Murray; we had our quarrel that evening in the drawing-room, and it was never made up. From then till now, what a gulf! and yet those years would have been but a bridge to pass over, save for the one barrier that was insurmountable between us.

“What has become of that Mrs. Murray whom you used to know?” she asked, as we reached the foot of the stairs. She relinquished my arm as she spoke, and faced me.

I felt the blood come to my face. “Mrs. Murray was in my thoughts at the same moment–and perhaps by the same train of associations.” I answered, “I don’t know where she is now; I lost sight of her years ago–soon after you were married, in fact. Why do you ask?”

“You had not forgotten her, then?”

“I had every reason to forget her, except the one reason for which I have remembered her–and you know what that is! Have you mistrusted me all this time?”